Death Is A Dish Best Served Cold
by Rivena Verity Vartanian
Summary: What if Potter was too weak to do what was necessary to win?  Draco was willing to sacrifice anything to vanquish his enemy, but be warned.  He didn't do it for the side of the light, he did it for power.
1. Muddblood

**Death Is A Dish Best Served Cold**

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Authors Note: Please, understand that while I take the privilege of borrowing from J.K Rowling, that I am not getting anything monetary out of this. I do it for the sake of pleasure.

Summary: Potter was too weak to do what was necessary to win, but Draco was willing to sacrifice anything to vanquish his enemy. He didn't do it for the side of the light though, he did it for power. Having taken over Hogwarts, and forced Muddbloods into a life of slavery; what happens when a member of the golden trio shows back up in his life. "I thought I'd killed you." "You did."

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_"The healthy man does not torture others. Generally it is the tortured who turn into torturers."  
-Carl Jung_

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**Malfoy POV**

They thought him evil, but what was so great about being good? Why was standing in the light better than being hidden in shadows? When it came to war, perfectly executing an ambush gave you the upper hand. You couldn't be seen. No one ever saw them coming. They knew how to seek out weaknesses and expose them. They fought with blood on their hands, and no fear in their hearts. They showed no mercy, and left no survivors.

He trusted no one, and was willing to sacrifice everyone.

The war fought between Potter and the Dark Lord lasted years and took many lives. Lives that he did not miss. Potter lost, in the long run. He wasn't willing to let people die. He protected others; he wouldn't sacrifice them for 'the greater good'. Potter was weak. He refused to let his friends go. When faced with the decision, he chose his own death over that of the Weasley girl. He gave up fighting, to save one life. Unfortunately, that life had not lasted. The Death Eaters did not see his sacrifice as noble. Voldemort killed him, and they raped the girl. She died less than a week later.

Being placed second was never something that Malfoy deemed appropriate. Draco had to be number one. In school; he had perfect grades, was head boy, and was friends with only the best blood. At home, he was the man of the house. His father had raised him to be strong, to have no emotion, to be worthy of his tittle; and he was. Draco was more of a man than his father. The Dark Lord had forced him to make a choice, and he had. He had chosen his father's death in order to raise himself hirer in the ranks. Lucius had begged his son for life, pleaded with him for mercy. Lucius had been week. In the end, even he was willing to grovel at the feet of another man. Draco was not his father.

Being second hand to Voldemort had its perks, but it wasn't enough. Draco didn't like taking orders. He didn't like feeling as though he was beneath someone, especially not a half-bread. Blood was everything. It showed who you are, and predicted your enemies; before you were even born. Blood defined your life; and if yours was pure, it gave you power.

"Sir, your dinner is served." Stupid Muddblood, they always seemed to interrupt his thoughts.

"As it should be, the time is right." He had strict orders that dinner would be served at 5:30. Not a minute early, not a second late. "Are you trying to say that I'm too stupid to come down for dinner?" He hadn't turned around, still staring out of the window.

The sky wasn't what you would have expected. It wasn't raining, there weren't dark clouds forming in the sky. The grass wasn't dyeing and the trees hadn't lost their foliage. His yard was immaculate. Perfectly cut, and tastefully landscaped. Acres of cleared lawn surrounded his century old home, and beyond that was a dense forest full of magical creatures.

Draco inhabited Hogwarts; he had made it his home. The castle did not know good from bad, right from wrong. In fact, the castle did not know much of anything. When it had locked Umbridge out of the Head Master's office, it hadn't done it out of kindness. It wasn't mourning the loss of Dumbledore. The magic that lived in its walls was simply fulfilling a duty, and its duty was now to Draco. It did as he commanded, it followed his rules.

It had taken him years, months of study. Finding the perfect way, and planning the perfect act. He had finally succeeded. The Dark Lord had been slain. Not expecting the claws to rake at his back, his follower had struck him with several curses before he had even turned around. Draco had been poisoning him for months, and he was too weak to fight. A duel to the death, and the younger man had one. That was another thing Potter had never been willing to do, strike when his enemies back was turned.

"N-no sir." Slowly, Draco turned. Cold eyes finding the small girl standing in the doorway. She was short, and dressed in plain robes. There was nothing elegant about her, but Draco wouldn't have his slaves walking around with dirty bodies and nasty cloths. He had more elegance than the Dark Lord before him, and couldn't stand the smell.

"Then, why do you feel the need to interrupt me?" He advanced on her until he was towering over her, staring down his nose and into the top of her head. Making eye contact with a superior was a guaranteed death wish. Muddbloods didn't deserve to know the thoughts that raced across other's faces.

"I-I just th-thought…"

"Thought, did you." He let out a low chuckle that made the girls shoulders shake. "Muddbloods do not think."

"N-no sir. I m-mean, y-yes sir." She was barely whispering, but he could taste the panic rolling off her in waves. Unable to string a sentence together without stuttering.

"Tell me then, what possessed you?" Though he got little enjoyment out of life, watching the nervous twitches of others was one of the few things that got his blood flowing. He loved to watch the expression on their face, knowing that he held their life in his hand.

"I-I just. I d-don't kn…" She trailed off with a slight shriek as he wrapped his long pale fingers around her throat. Pushing her up against the wall he heard as her head hit the beam. He tightened his grip.

Inches away from her face, he watched the emotion in her eye. Fear. Desperation for her life, she didn't want to die. He relished in the fact that she was terrified of him. Looking deeper, he noticed, for a split second, anger flashed across her features. He felt the tenseing of her muscles, the way her knees seemed to lock up and grow stronger. It was gone before he could see it clearly, vanishing without a trace. Her shoulders fell flat, and her knees went back to being barely able to hold herself up. He knew that when he took his hand away from her, she would fall.

That look, those eyes; he knew. Her hair had grown far worse than before. The curls even more unmanageable now that he'd had her wand broken. Bending closer, he breathed in, taking in her sent. Yes, it was her. He would never have even recognized her had she not regressed, for a deadly second, into uncontrollable anger towards him. The look in those eyes was the same as the girl he had tormented for seven years of life.

In front of him, and cowering in fear, stood Hermione Granger. He tightened his grip even harder.

Her face, which had at first sight been deathly pale, began to turn from shades of red to purple. Chocking for breath she reached up to claw at his hand, scratching at his knuckles. He felt her short nails dig into his flesh and rip small scratches into his skin. He squeezed harder. He had meant to only scare her, which he was always very successful in doing to any Muddblood, but her defiance made him angry. How dare she think that she had the right to push his hands away from her throat. If he wished to kill her, then he would.

He recognized the look in her eye. He had seen it on others faces many times before. It was life, or rather, the escape of. Her eyes began to lose focus, to see into something he was not privy to. Her hands retreated back to her sides, all fight having gone out of her. He released his hold, her breath sucking in as soon as he no longer held her wind pipe closed. She crumpled to the ground.

"Get up." He knew she couldn't, but wanted to watch her try.

She struggled for a minute, almost making it once, before her knees gave way and she fell on all fours before her.

"Disobedient, are you. I said get up." Roughly, he kicked her. His boot making contact with her left shoulder. He felt the crunch of bone.

Whimpering, she raised herself to her feet. He knew that it was pure fear that gave her the motivation.

"I thought I'd killed you."

He would have missed it had he not been listening, she was still chocking in air. "You did."

"Get out of my sight."

She fled the room. Head down and clutching her shoulder, she made no attempt to look behind her as she left.

Draco casually walked after her; but whereas she turned right to return to the slave chambers, he turned left. All that excitement had brought his appetite back.

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_I spent so much time… Writing this, for you._  
_So how about you spend some time… Please, just review._


	2. Slavery

_"...within the core of each of us is the child we once were. This child constitutes the foundation of what we have become, who we are, and what we will be."  
-Neuroscientist, Dr. R. Joseph _

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**Granger POV**

She wasn't the same as all the other slaves. She was allowed to keep her name, though no one ever used it to address her.

In a sick way, she was special. She was the Muddblood that fought alongside Harry Potter. She was the Muddblood that believed she had a right in their world.

When Harry had first died, everything began to go downhill. Ron had died a year earlier, Ginny had been captured, Dumbledore was dead, Snape turned against them, and Molly was killed by Bellatrix. There was still hope though; the order still existed, and it believed that Voldemort was getting weaker. When he had first started showing signs of being poisoned, they had hoped that it was Snape; that he really hadn't been loyal to Voldemort.

The Dark Lord never thought to question Snape, the ex-professors skill at occlemency creating a buffer between his mind and Voldemort. But after Malfoy was proven to be the culprit, and his attentions shown for what they were. All hope diminished. No one stood a chance against the Malfoy; there was no way at getting to him. He didn't allow his followers to get as close. He didn't trust them as much, which was saying something. Seeing as Voldemort trusted no one.

She had been the hardest to capture. She had run, hoping that eventually she would meet up with someone who had the same goals as her; to overthrow the Dragon, as Malfoy had taken to having himself called. Unfortunately luck had not been on her side. She spent over a year in hiding, never once running into anyone who was trustworthy enough to approach.

In some ways, Hermione still wished that Voldemort was ruling the world. He punished impure blood by death. It may not have always been quick or painless, but at least it was inevitable. Malfoy forced those who weren't of higher blood standing into service. Slaves to his whims; Malfoy forced the woman to be bound to masters, concubines for the duration of their life, their wands snapped. He forced the magic to be suppressed within their veins, and punished them by practicing curses worse than the Unforgivables on those whose magic was not kept in check.

A little over a month after she had first been captured, Malfoy's goons attempted to break her. They had snapped her wand and forced her to serve them their dinner, but she didn't play nice with the men.

…

_Hermione placed the bowls of stew and plates of bread in front of the men, her mouthwatering the entire time at the smell. She was fed only on plain rice and stale breath, and then only enough to keep her alive. _

_She had turned around to leave the room when she felt the hand. It grabbed her right below her but cheek, fingers going between her legs. "Come stay, little Bitch. I think I'd like some company."_

_Before she could think to stop herself, she turned around and punched the man in the face. He was tall and fat, sitting up almost as tall as she stood. She may not be able to defend herself with her magic, but she had been raised a Muggle. She knew how to use her hands. His head barely moved at impact. _

"_You nasty little Muddblood." He jumped from his seat and advanced on her. She backed up, she knew she was in trouble, but she wasn't about to let that man violate her. She had her pride; they'd have to kill her first._

_Her back hit the wall, but she stood her ground. Looking him straight in the eye, she could smell the Butter Beer on his breath mixed with the acrid scent that only came when one forgot to brush their teeth. _

_His companions still sat at the table, egging him on. She could hear their words of encouragement coming from behind him._

"_Yes, I'll teach you a lesson. You'll think twice about acting like that towards me again. He placed one of his hands on her shoulder, she could feel them digging into her flesh. She didn't care though; she refused to be afraid of him. She didn't flinch._

_He grabbed his belt, unbuckling it with one hand. She struggled to get away from him, but the sheer size of his body made it impossible. His hands went to the waistline of her skirt, ripping it open. _

_Tears began to pour down her face, angry tears. She was a virgin, innocent, and she refused to let this man rip her virtue out of her body. _

_She began to fight even harder. She slammed her fist into the side of his head, this time he let out a grunt. He hadn't been prepared for blow, but it still didn't faze him._

_The fire lit in his eyes. She was making a fool of him in from o his friends. He couldn't even manage a petite little girl on his own. _

_Grabbing her face roughly in one of his greasy hands he slammed her head in the wall. _

"_Fillthy Muddblood." Black bubbles of darkness came alive in her vision, she could barely see. She had almost resigned herself to his treatment; thinking only that if she had had her wand, she'd make him pay._

_His face came in closer to hers; she knew he was going to kiss her. And then, he let go and was off her. She heard the crash before she saw what happened. He lay atop the table, his legs and arms sprawled around him in a puddle of blood on the table, his legs hanging off the edge._

_There were gashes lining every part of his body, his robes having been ripped to expose the skin. _

_The other inhabitants of the room looked from him, to her. No one wanting to come near her. She knew that she would be in trouble as soon as the men came to their senses. Not turning her back on them, she fled the room out the door she'd come._

A week after that incident, men dressed in black with their faces hidden came to collect her. She hadn't heard anything about the incident, other than that the man had not made it, and she knew that her time was coming. Still, she couldn't help but feel a small since off pride at what she had done. She had defended herself, and no one could take that away from her.

Roughly, threw a cloak at her and had her pull the hood over her face. That was the first time she had seen the new Dragon.

Malfoy used the slaves as Guiney pigs. Their punishment was to be used as practice for the nastier curses and hexes that the man read about in the many books he had hidden away in his chambers.

Hermione couldn't remember much about that night, but she did know that her magic had failed to protect her that time.

…

Malfoy had not known she was in the castle, that wasn't shocking. He didn't take time to know such mundane things. She was nothing to him. He didn't care whether she was alive or dead.

It was customary that someone went to fetch the Dragon if he was late for dinner, though no one ever escaped his rooms without at least minor injuries.

He found it entertaining to damage the help.

She had been sent, it was her turn. There were thirteen girls in her group. They were specially assigned the task of tending the Dragon. Not all of them were of impure blood, several came from purebred lines; either they or the parents before them had done something to displease the Dragon. It was common knowledge that those few girls hoped that they would be taken to their Master's bed; they dreamed that he would call upon them to sit next to him at his thrown. Hermione only wished that she could poison him.

"Get a move on, the Masters rooms won't clean themselves." A broom and dust cloth were roughly shoved into her hands. She had been given a potion to heal her bone, but the pain was still there.

Silently, she took her tools and returned to the rooms she had just come from, thinking only of she could have cleaned the whole of the Gryffindor Commons in less than three hours had she had her wand.

Entering, she cast about for any signs of movement. She didn't care what they said; if he was still there, she'd come back another time.

The room was empty, so she entered and began to dust. It would take her an hour to work her way through the entire rooms. Malfoy had so many books, and it had been years since she'd had something decent to read. She knew better than to attempt to take one off the shelf, he'd probably set wards on them. She could only imagine the nasty things that might happen if she went to remove one.

Dusting each book off, she allowed herself the privilege of reading the title.

There were several on transfiguration, and a few on the history of Magic; but the majority of the cases were full of books on the Dark Arts. Eight shelves total, each one holding over a hundred thick books.

She longed to open one, to learn something she hadn't known before. Reaching out, she brushed a finger down the spine of a title printed in gold ink 'Mastering the Truth Within'.

"Enjoying yourself, Muddblood." She dropped her rag and turned around to face Malfoy. She knew this wasn't going to end well.

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_I spent so much time… Writing this, for you._  
_So how about you spend some time… Please, just review._


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